


Spring in the Land of the Dead

by NinjaWriter



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV), The 100 (TV), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alpha Lexa, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Basically Clexa with zombies, Canon-Typical Violence, Clexa Love Week, Commander Lexa, Dystopia, Eventual Clarke Griffin/Lexa, F/F, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Inspired by The Walking Dead, Post-Apocalypse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Zombie Apocalypse, Princess Clarke, Slow Burn Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Walkers (Walking Dead), Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-08-27 13:25:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8403370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NinjaWriter/pseuds/NinjaWriter
Summary: It's been a hundred years since the virus that transformed most of the world's population into flesh-eating "walkers."  Between the zombies and the waves of famine, disease, and war that followed, all that remains of humanity now are isolated pockets of survivors.Clarke's people had been some of the lucky ones.  Living peacefully at a place they called "the Station," they lived the quiet lives of farmers.  Rarely did they have to fight.  Rarely did they interact with others except to trade.  But that changed when the Mountain Men invaded and destroyed their home, leaving Clarke and a ragtag group of children and teens as the only survivors.Lexa has had a markedly different life than Clarke.  Her people have been warriors for as long as anyone can remember, and Lexa has risen through their ranks to the level of "Commander" at a relatively young age.When Clarke arrives on Lexa's doorstep, she doesn't know what to make of her.  Just like she doesn't know whether she should believe her or kill her when Clarke warns, "The Mountain is coming."A Clexa tale set in the world of The Walking Dead / Fear the Walking Dead, a century later.





	1. Chapter 1

1

 

Lexa climbs to the top of the guard tower, following the head of the watch and carefully masking the slight pant the exertion of the climb has cost her.The men surrounding her don’t need to know that she’s still hurting from the duel she fought last week with Goran.To reveal injury is to reveal weakness; to reveal weakness is to beg for death.And Lexa does not beg.

When she finally reaches the top of the stairs, the two guards move aside for her wordlessly and automatically, parting like lake reeds pushed by the wind.The head of the watch moves up beside her when he completes his own climb a moment later. 

“There, Commander,” he says, sweeping his arm to indicate the downward slope of the hill below them.

It’s not the nomads standing there that catches Lexa’s eye first; it’s the beautiful innocence of the morning — the dew coating the waves of grass like sparkling, secret jewels; the red-orange light of dawn washing the distant trees with a sort of faint pink glow; the birds that sing and flutter from perch to perch like restless black leaves.Dawn has always been her favorite time of day.

But she takes in the view without a hint of emotion, without so much as a glimmer in her green eyes to show her appreciation for the tranquil scene beyond.

A tranquility marred by the defiant band of ragtag nomads standing in the open plain between the city gates and the forest. 

Lexa’s perceptive eyes take them in at the same time she takes in the dawn, and she sighs heavily at the sight of them, because they _cannot_ be a good omen.The way they stand there, looking up at her impassively, legs slightly spread like they’re bracing themselves for a fight, but with the look of beggars rather than warriors — their clothes universally tattered; hair tangled and matted, some of them with bits of leaves or grass or twigs woven in; weapons all sheathed; a hungry, rangy look on each of their faces.They’re skinny, all of them, and most of them are young — adolescents, along with a handful of children.Lexa immediately thinks of the packs of wild dogs that roam the woods; most of them don’t live to adulthood, either, and all of them have the same feral, half-frightened, half-daring demeanor that these nomads do.

No, Lexa decides, this is _not_ a good omen.Forty-seven beggars showing up on her doorstep on the eve of spring.She would’ve preferred winter to announce its end with herds of deer and flocks of returning geese.Not flocks of children.

“Tell me again what their leader requested,” Lexa says to the head of the watch.She struggles to remember his name — the early hour and the pain in her side must be clouding her mind — and after a moment comes up with “Olaf.”Olaf, son of Olsen.That’s it.

But before Olaf Son-Olsen can respond, one of the nomads strides forward from the cluster, casting her eyes up towards Lexa.From here, Lexa can’t see what color the girl’s eyes are, but even in the pale light of dawn, even dirty and bedraggled, Lexa sees her hair is a striking white-blonde.It’s an unusual color, rare in Lexa’s village.

“I request an audience,” the girl calls clearly, projecting her voice without shouting.

Lexa can’t help but think the girl is either exceedingly brave or exceedingly stupid.She trains her eyes right on Lexa, not flinching or blinking, marking Lexa as the leader immediately.But the girl’s people are in a position too compromised to cover her should Lexa decide to attack, and by stepping away from the group as she has, she’s marked _herself_ as the leader.

Which means that if this encounter comes to blows, Lexa knows exactly which nomad to take out.Cut off the head of the snake, the rest of the body will writhe for a moment, then go still.And this snake has already revealed its head.

“I told her you do not accept audience requests from strangers, Commander.I told her she could say what she needed to say to me, from down there, but she refused,” Olaf says in a low voice into Lexa’s ear.His words are almost apologetic.

Lexa leans the heels of her palms against the lip of the guard tower, hiding a wince when the motion pulls at the stitches of the still-healing gash that runs up her side. 

Goran.She’s glad he’s dead.

She gazes down at the blonde some thirty feet below her, learning what she can about her from what little she can see.

The nomads’ leader wears an animal hide jacket, probably cowhide, hanging open against a stained grey t-shirt.The t-shirt must be ancient, Lexa realizes, which means the stains probably aren’t new.It may even be a mark of her rank.Soft leather pants, probably also cow, cover the girl’s legs; even from here, Lexa can see that they bulge with hidden pockets.The pant bottoms are caked in mud, some of which splatters halfway up her calf.Running through something wet, then.

The strap of a sheath forms a slash across the girl’s chest, with the handle of what is probably a machete or short sword sticking up behind one shoulder.When Lexa’s gaze comes back to the girl’s face, the blonde meets her stare boldly, no sign of hesitation.It’s been a long time since anyone has dared to look at Lexa like that.It sends a little thrill down her spine, the tingle of instinct that warns of both danger and possibility simultaneously.

And just like that, Lexa finds she’d like to know this girl.At least learn her name before she’s (inevitably? Or only likely?) forced to kill her.

Lexa straightens, turns to Olaf.“I’ll speak with her.But only her.Strip her of any weapons first.And make sure to check the hidden pockets.Have her leave the jacket behind.”

Olaf’s brown eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, he doesn’t seem to know what to say or do.In the three years that Lexa has been Commander, they’ve only had strangers visit the village once.And that last time, Lexa climbed the tower to look at them, studied them for about five seconds, and walked off again, only telling the guard to send them away as an afterthought.The notion that the Commander would invite a stranger through the city gates, let alone offer an audience…

“Yes, Commander,” he manages, but Lexa’s back is already facing him, she’s already mounting the stairs and heading down to the city gates.

 

#

 

The lean woman with the angular face and long brown braids turns her back and disappears from view after only a few seconds.On the ground below, Clarke closes her eyes, disappointed.She’d been so sure she’d seen something on the woman’s face — curiosity, maybe? — that would lead to an audience.

Clarke and her people have been wandering the woods around the village for several days now — sleeping on the ground at night without fires to keep themselves hidden, only hunting small game like rabbits and squirrels so as not to offend their potential hosts.The quickest way to declare war on a village is to threaten their food source.

But after four hungry days and four frigid nights sleeping on the hard, wet ground, sweeping away their tracks in the morning and burying their squirrel bones, Clarke can’t take the hollow-eyed stares of her people any longer.They could stay out here, probably survive, for many months.Spring was on its way, after all, and with spring came food.They could move on from this village, find some place less inhabited, kill bigger game, start a proper cook fire.It’s exactly the course of action some of her companions have already suggested.

But then what?

What will happen after spring and summer slide into autumn and winter?Will they live off the land in tents and lean-tos?Will they manage to preserve enough meat that none of them go hungry during the long, lean months of winter? 

And then when spring comes again?Will they repeat the whole cycle once more?

Clarke is more far-sighted than the rest of them, and she knows they can’t simply wander indefinitely; half of her group are barely more than children, the other half are already starting to bicker and fight amongst themselves, already chafing at Clarke’s leadership.

 _“Who died and put you in charge, Princess?”_ Murphy had sneered the other night.His question, though, immediately answered itself, and he cut his eyes away and stalked off before Clarke could respond, because they both knew the answer.

Everyone.

Everyone had died.

And Clarke — the Princess, though she hated having to rely on the title, because she knows intuitively that a leader who relies on titles isn’t really a leader at all — had been the closest thing they had left to someone in charge.

So it falls on Clarke to find them a new home.She knows it.They know it, too.Even Murphy knows it.Not that they like admitting it aloud — some of them, like Murphy, Bellamy, and Miller, can’t stand the idea of following the orders of the Station’s junior princess.They are the type of men who were already destined either for stockades or exile, yet when push came to shove — when they came back to the Station the next day to find it razed and still smoldering, bodies and thick pools of congealing blood everywhere — where did their eyes flit?Where did their heads turn?

Clarke.Always to Clarke.

And she, in response, had tightened her lips, drawn herself up, and said to them, _“Start searching.See if there’s anyone still alive.And gather as many weapons as you can.We need to be long gone when the sun starts to set.”_

They had nodded wordlessly and followed her command.And it had been like that ever since — for three long, trying weeks, by Clarke’s count, she had led them and they had followed.

So when the woman in the guard tower with the angular face turns her back on Clarke without uttering a word, Clarke’s eyes close and she allows the dual weights of disappointment and impossible responsibility to crush her for a moment.But only a moment.She counts silently to two in her head, then opens her eyes again, carefully washing away the burden of worry she’s been carrying from her face before she turns to address her people.

It is only dawn, she will tell them.It is only dawn, their stomachs are reasonably full, and they can travel many miles from here by the time the sun finishes its westward journey across the sky.West might even be a good direction to walk, she thinks.

But before she can turn around, she hears the clanging of metal, then the answering low groan of wood on wood.Gradually, one of the two heavy doors that make up the city gates swings outward, and a heavily armed, heavily armored guard, spear in hand, steps out.He waves Clarke forward.

Clarke glances over her shoulder, and at her nod, Bellamy, Murphy, and Finn all step in her direction.

The guard in front shakes his head.“Only the girl,” he says gruffly.

Murphy cocks an eyebrow and falls back, but Bellamy and Finn both look ready to protest. 

She lifts a hand.“It’s okay.I’ll be alright by myself.”

She doesn’t know if it’s true or not, but in her three weeks of leadership, she’s already learned that a confidently spoken lie often serves better than a hesitant truth.

Clarke pulls off the sheath holding the machete that hangs at her back, hands it to Finn without the guard having to ask her.Then she takes her hunting knife — an old, strong one that had been her father’s, and his father’s before him — and also hands this back.

“I’m unarmed,” she tells the guard, raising both palms and walking forward.It’s another lie.But it’s confident.

The guard doesn’t believe her, of course, pats her down with one hand while keeping a suspicious eye on the three boys behind her.He squeezes at the bulges in her pockets, but finds only the softness of dried meat and berries.He doesn’t find the sharp shard of metal hidden by the stiffness of Clarke’s belt. _A letter opener,_ her father had called the dull, small broken blade when they’d found it on a scavenging run several years earlier.While Clarke knew what a letter was, she had no idea why one would need a blade to open it.But she didn’t question his words, and she’s kept the mysterious item all these years, turning it over in her hands at night sometimes, silently repeating _letter opener_ to herself, as if through repetition she would come to understand its meaning.

When the guard is satisfied, he nods at her, gestures for Clarke to follow him.

She takes a breath and walks through the half-open city gate.

 


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Refugee Clarke Griffin + 46 other survivors of the Station arrive on Lexa's doorstep, seeking a safe place to stay.
> 
> This chapter: Clarke and Lexa speak for the first time.

2

 

Blue.

Up close, and with a little stronger light, Lexa sees that the girl’s eyes are blue.Also unusual in her village.Not unheard of, but rare.

“Thank you for agreeing to talk to me, my lady,” says the blue-eyed girl.She’s using the same bold stare she used earlier.

Lexa stays silent, and although she senses one of the men shuffle behind her, they stay silent as well.She keeps her face carefully blank, resisting the urge to lift an eyebrow or cock her head, to show any sign that the blue-eyed girl’s words are strange or unexpected.

Because _“my lady”_?What do the words even mean? 

Lexa understands each word individually, of course, but has never heard them used together, in what is obviously a form of address.And judging by the humility in the tone of her words, along with the strange way the blue-eyed girl dips a little, bending both knees simultaneously as she raises her fingertips upward at the same time (is the gesture a bow?), all while cutting her eyes away from Lexa’s face towards the ground, Lexa assumes it’s meant to be a term of respect.

She hopes it’s an address of respect, anyway.It should be.

The blue eyes flick left, right, taking in the semi-circle of armed guards who stand behind Lexa, all of them as jittery as caged colts waiting to be let out.They don’t actually move — well, except for the man who shuffled at the strange use of “my lady,” they don’t move — but Lexa is attuned to their tension.She can feel it prickling the skin on the back of her neck.

The girl’s mouth opens to say something, but she snaps it shut again, waiting, and Lexa finds that she is glad.Other than her perfunctory _“thank you,”_ she should not speak until spoken to.Good.

“Who are you?” Lexa begins bluntly, asking the most obvious question first.“And what is your purpose in requesting an audience?”

Like the guards, Lexa is still when she speaks, arms resting loosely by her sides.It is a warrior’s stance, ready to draw a knife, a dart, or a sword at a moment’s notice.

“My name is Clarke Griffin, my lady, and my people know me as the junior princess of the Station.As for my purpose in requesting this audience…”She hesitates, draws a breath.“My people and I seek asylum.”

_Asylum._

Another strange word.One that tickles deep recesses of memory, that recalls a small room, lit only by candle, while Lexa sat on one of her father’s knees and her baby sister Costia sat on the other.He used to read to them in whispers, late at night, a secret indulgence only for the hours between midnight and dawn.

_Asylum._ She remembers the word now; it starts with an A, not a U like it sounds, and instead of an I in the middle, there is the trickster letter, the Y, the consonant that is sometimes a vowel. _A.Sy.Lum._ A place of refuge, of shelter.A safe harbor for refugees.

Or a quarantine building filled with madmen.

It takes only a few seconds for Lexa to process the word, to remember having read it in her father’s ancient, yellowed dictionary, but these few moments of silence, during which she continues to stare unblinkingly at the blue-eyed Clarke Griffin, are enough to convince the other girl that more explanation must be required.

“We’re not a threat to your settlement.And we’re the only ones left alive from ours,” Clarke says hurriedly.“The rest are dead — slaughtered.We hid in the caves near our home, and when we came back…”She pales at the memory, unable to continue for a moment.When she meets Lexa’s eyes again, she says, “We’ve been wandering for weeks.And we could… I could keep pressing them forward, find someplace where we could rebuild, if it was just me and the older ones.But many of them are only children.And already hungry, and weakening, and starting to fall behi — ”

“And you would have _us_ feed them,” Lexa says, cutting her off.She makes sure it’s a statement, not a question.“You would have _us_ strengthen them.”

“We aren’t asking for a handout,” Clarke Griffin says defensively.“We’ll earn our keep, work for you.It’s spring, which means planting season, and with a settlement as large as yours, I’m sure you could use the extra help.Right?So we can offer our labor in exchange for basic rations and a safe place to sleep.Even the youngest of my people, they’ll follow the directions of your farmers, and…”

The blue-eyed girl rambles on, failing to hide the note of desperation bleeding into her voice.But Lexa stopped fully listening at the word “farmers.”Actually — she stopped listening at the words “planting season.”It sends her mind reeling back to a meeting with the Officer Corps merely two weeks ago, when her proposal to expand the year’s crop cultivation was practically shouted down by four of the five the Heads.

She could’ve overruled them.As Commander, she has that authority.But such a move would have been impolitic.Unhappy Officers would mean low morale spreading like a winter flu throughout the whole village.And likely more challenges from people like Goran.Lexa can’t weather another to-the-death battle so soon after the last one.

But one of the main complaints of the Officers had been the additional labor.Pulling men and women from the upcoming hunt to tend to _plants?_ Besides the notion being simply offensive and embarrassing to many of the warriors, it would’ve endangered the success of the hunt. 

Why focus on _plants,_ they’d scoffed, which have never provided a guaranteed food resource anyway, when those extra warriors could be needed in the hunt?

If Lexa had extra labor, however… _Experienced_ labor from a farm-based settlement…

“I grant you and your people asylum, Clarke Griffin of the Station,” Lexa says quickly, cutting off the still-rambling Clarke.The girl’s face lights up, blue eyes shining.She starts to speak, but Lexa speaks first.“You will remain quartered at the quarantine — ”

“Quarantine?”The light of enthusiasm fades, her brow creasing.“My people aren’t sick.None of us has the virus.No one in my settlement has for twenty years.”

Interrupting the Commander.The guards behind Lexa shift as one body, with Olaf Son-Olsen actually about to step around her at Clarke’s impertinence.But Lexa holds out an arm.He stops immediately, and in Lexa’s peripheral vision, she sees him step back into place.

Clarke notices the sudden change of atmosphere, notices how Lexa has to hold Olaf back.She looks afraid, but the fear travels no further than her eyes.Her brow stays creased.

Exceedingly brave?Or exceedingly stupid?

It remains to be seen.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” she says, dipping her chin in submission.“We will be happy to stay in quarantine for as long as you wish.”

Lexa nods curtly.“You will remain quartered at the quarantine facility, and will stay supervised by one of the members of my guard.You will focus on cultivating crops each day, from sun-up until sun-down, and if you should ever finish early, we will find other tasks to keep you occupied.You will not be permitted to stay indefinitely.Until the harvest at the latest.No longer than that.Do you consent to these terms?”

 

#

 

“Yes,” Clarke says, nodding, her earlier hopefulness souring like a cold weight in her stomach.“We consent, my lady.” 

Safety until harvest season.She’d hoped for something more permanent than that — and maybe she could still get that, if things worked out — but for now, it would have to do.Desperation has made her humble, her pride worn down to a dull nub.It’s either stay here until the fall or see how their luck holds up outside this settlement’s walls. 

Hopefully what’s inside the walls will be better than what’s outside.Given what happened at the Station, and given the current state of her hungry group of forty-six, she’ll take the risk.

She curtsies again to the settlement’s leader, not missing the look of confusion the curtsy brings to the face of one of the younger guards.

Their leader is younger than Clarke originally thought.Older than Clarke, maybe, but not by more than two or three years.Despite their similar age, however, up close she finds the Commander even more intimidating than she did a few minutes ago, looking up at her in the guard tower.She wears her dark, wavy hair in thick braids that flow down past her shoulders, and what Clarke originally took to be shadows cast by the rising sun turns out to be thick, black warpaint.It surrounds the other woman’s eyes like the two wings of a raven, making her green eyes shine brilliantly.

Clarke studies the woman as she addresses her guards with new orders. _Take them here, feed them that_ — Clarke doesn’t really catch all the details.She’s somewhat fascinated, though, with the way they all respond to her.Despite the fact that she is doubtless the youngest among them, the guards hang on her every word, nodding and agreeing and bowing their heads until she’s finished speaking to them.Most of them disappear, scurrying off in different directions; three remain behind, apparently prepared to escort Clarke back out the gate.

“Each member of your group will consent to be searched,” says the green-eyed Commander.“Any weapons you might have will remain in our possession until you take your leave of us.”She nods at the three guards.“These men will conduct the search for weapons, escort you to quarantine, and assist you for the time being.Any questions you have, they can answer.Any orders they give should be considered final.Understood?”

Clarke nods, eyeing the three guards.Like their Commander, their faces are stoic, blank.They give away no hint of emotion.Something about their demeanor reminds Clarke of the frightening stories about the virus-infected dead that her older half-brother, Wells, used to tell her when she was little.Lifeless eyes.Expressionless faces.Clarke shivers involuntarily.

The green-eyed woman turns to leave.“Wait,” Clarke says, reaching out for her arm automatically.In an instant, one of the dead-eyed guards suddenly comes to life, roughly pushing away Clarke’s arm, inserting himself between Clarke and the leader before her fingers can even make it halfway across the divide.

“Never touch the Commander,” he growls.

“I’m sorry — I just…” Clarke looks past him, meets eyes with the leader.“You didn’t tell me your name.”

“You’re right.I didn’t,” the woman says, her face as unforgiving as the guard’s.“You can call me by my title.Commander.”

“Thank you, Commander.Thank you _so much._ You’re saving the lives of my people.We will pay your kindness back.”

The Commander looks as if she might say something else, but she doesn’t.She only nods and walks away, disappearing when she rounds the corner of a low brick building and leaving Clarke alone with the three guards.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Lexa and Clarke negotiate the stay of the 47 Station refugees.
> 
> This chapter: Clarke's power struggle with Bellamy.

3

 

The heavy wooden gate groans again as it opens, and Clarke finds the faces of her companions waiting for her, nervous and fidgety as they wait to hear their fate.The three boys — Murphy, Finn, and Bellamy — are closest to the gate; they look like they haven’t moved since the wooden doors shut behind Clarke.Bellamy seems angry, worried, and guilty; he’s worn some cocktail of those three emotions on his face ever since they left the burned-out ruins of the Station.Finn and Murphy also look anxious, but in Murphy’s face is also a hint of curiosity.In Finn’s is a hint of hope. 

Beyond the boys are the rest of her people, the older kids encircling the younger ones.Octavia slides up to stand beside her brother, Bellamy, studying Clarke intently; Jasper and Monty glance over from where they stand, supporting the still-injured Raven; Harper drums her fingers on the handle of the machete that hangs at her waist.

Bellamy is the first to speak.“Well?” he asks.

“We can stay here,” Clarke answers, her words coming out in one long, relieved breath.She manages a half-smile.

Bellamy’s frown deepens, and his voice is filled with skepticism when he cocks his head to the side and says, “Just like that?They’ll let dozens of complete strangers into their camp?”

The wooden gates leading into the village are still open behind Clarke, and she feels the stoic, silent eyes of the guards on her back. 

She hesitates and tells them, “Not exactly _just_ like that.” 

Harper takes a step closer, taking her hand off the machete to offer a helping hand to Raven.Raven takes it, and with Harper’s help, she limps forward to stand with the rest of the older kids.Clarke turns her head deliberately, meeting all of their eyes one by one.It’s a gesture that says she’s including all of them, not ignoring them, but it also means she’ll stare them down if she has to.

“We have to stay in their quarantine building — ”

“Quarantine?” Finn objects, exactly as Clarke had to the Commander a few minutes earlier.“But we’re not sick.We don’t have the virus.”

Clarke nods, keeps talking.“Yes, well.I agreed that we’d stay in quarantine, at least for now, and I told them we’d help them with their planting in exchange for a safe place to sleep and some rations.Their leader — the Commander, she’s called — she said we could stay here until harvest season.No longer than that.”

“Then what?” asks Raven.“We’re on our own again?Right as the weather starts to get cold?”

Murphy speaks over Raven as she asks her questions.“Thanks a lot for volunteering us, Princess,” he says sarcastically.“We didn’t want to offer our opinions, anyway.”

Beyond the small knot of kids who’ve clustered closer to Clarke, Monty, Jasper, Zoe Monroe, and Miller fall into their own quiet discussion of these new facts.Miller in particular looks unhappy; he crosses his arms against his chest, shakes his head slowly.His eyes dart over to Clarke for a moment before coming back to Monty.

“We’ll be safe here,” Clarke says, projecting again so that her voice carries over everyone else’s.“And we’ll figure out what to do next as opportunities present themselves.”

“As opportunities present themselves…” Bellamy shakes his head.“Speaking of opportunities, I don’t trust anyone who trusts _us_ so quickly.”A few of the other kids nod.Octavia doesn’t, Clarke notes.At least there’s that.“If it were me, I would — ”

“If it were you, you’d what, Bellamy?” Clarke snaps.She’s _so_ tired of him.He challenges her at every turn, questions every decision.But does he offer better solutions? _No._ If he did, that would be one thing.Mainly, though, he just seems to resent that everyone has been willing to follow Clarke’s lead since the beginning.

 _Well, not quite everyone,_ Clarke thinks.Her eyes flash to Murphy, then back to the knot of other kids, where Atom and Drew have both joined the side conversation that Monty and the rest of them are having.The little kids, some of them as young as seven or eight, look between the teens nervously.To them, it must be like watching their parents fight.

But some of these kids will _always_ listen to Bellamy before they listen to Clarke.Regardless how many mistakes he makes.It’s the simple consequence of long-standing Station politics.Clarke’s a member of one of the ruling families; Bellamy’s just another farmer.Apparently, resentment towards the Council isn’t going to end just because the Council itself has been obliterated.

“If it were me inside those gates,” Bellamy continues, not backing down, “I’d be awfully suspicious of a group of fifty people walking out of the woods and asking for asylum.”

Clarke waves an arm, indicating the group.“Oh, come on.Look at us,” she says, words ringing with impatience.“Half-starved kids and teenagers.Clothes in tatters.Unwashed.Stinking of sweat and mud and rivers.”She points at Raven.“Injured.We’re no threat to them, and they know it.They pity us, that’s all.And what settlement have you ever encountered that wouldn’t accept extra help?Especially at this time of year?”

Bellamy’s mouth puckers.He probably doesn’t like thinking that he’s no threat to anyone, Clarke thinks with a silent, internal sigh.

She raises her voice a little louder, making sure the whole group can hear her, as well as the guards waiting to escort them to the quarantine building.

“You don’t have to take this deal.No one has to walk through that gate,” she says.“I’m not here to force a single one of you.If you want to stay out here… if you want to keep eating squirrels and sleeping on the ground… that’s _your_ choice.But me, I’m sleeping behind walls tonight.”

Kids glance at one another — at Clarke, at their friends.At Bellamy.

 _What do they see in him?_ Clarke wonders, not for the first time.He’s got charisma, that’s true, and he’s the oldest of all of them.Clarke is the closest thing they have to an authority figure; Bellamy is the closest thing they have to an adult.But he’s a bully, plain and simple.He always has been.Too bad for him that Clarke won’t take being bullied.

She pivots, turning her back on all of them, deciding not to wait for the kids to make up their minds.She’s sick of it, anyway — always having to be the one to convince everyone.Always having to be the one to state the hard truths.Always being the object of their resentment.Always trying to protect people who couldn’t be more ungrateful.

 _They can stay out here indefinitely, for all I care,_ Clarke thinks bitterly.But who is she really fooling?Clarke cares.She cares immensely.And she can’t bear the thought of even one more death, one more injury.She’s already lost so much.The mere thought of her mounting losses makes her eyes sting with tears, but she swallows hard and strides towards the three guards.

“You already have my weapons,” she tells them.

The oldest one nods, face as expressionless as ever.

She senses, rather than sees, someone walking up behind her.Casting a glance over her shoulder, a wave of gratitude hits her so hard that she almost breaks down into tears again.It’s Octavia, of course, walking straight up to the closest guard and handing over her prized hunting knife.Once he accepts it from her, Octavia spreads her arms and legs out without being asked, letting him pat her down while she keeps her eyes on Clarke. 

 _“Thank you,”_ Clarke mouths silently.The corner of Octavia’s mouth twitches, almost turning into a smile, but not quite.

Raven and Harper come next, then Jasper, Monty, and Miller.One-by-one, everyone else follows, the little kids trickling in behind the older ones, pulling out knives and sharpened sticks and machetes from the hiding places within their clothes.Murphy heaves a deep sigh and waves at John, Drew, and Atom.Together, the four of them come forward.Finally, there’s only Finn and Bellamy left.

Clarke’s blue eyes meet Bellamy’s brown ones.She lifts both eyebrows — a wordless challenge.

Like Murphy, Bellamy sighs, then shakes his head.He and Murphy join the queue, waiting to be searched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa... got on a bit of a writing streak this morning! Hope you enjoy.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Power struggle between Bellamy and Clarke.
> 
> This chapter: More settling in, plus.......

4

 

They spend the day settling into the quarantine building.It’s low and brick, not far from the village gates, and an asymmetrical charred wall that’s wood instead of brick tells the story of some long ago fire or fight or bomb.

It’s actually relatively comfortable inside — better than what Clarke would’ve expected.The rooms are small and square, filled with bunk beds with straw mattresses.The floor is original tile — such a novelty that Clarke actually bends down and touches the smooth, shiny surface.At the Station, the Council building also had original tile, but try as they might, they’d never been able to reproduce the effect.Some of the rooms also have windows that still have glass panes.Another surprise.The little kids marvel and chatter as she divides them into groups of five to ten and shows them into their new rooms.She puts one older kid with each of the groups of younger ones, instructing the little kids to obey the big ones.Harper and Raven grumble when she puts them in a room with seven little girls, the youngest of whom is only five, but she finally gets them to agree by promising them half of her own rations.

She herself follows one of the three guards to a small room with only two beds, one of which will remain empty.Murphy curses and complains about the situation loudly, of course, despite the fact that he’s already talked Clarke into letting him stay with his friends instead of “babysitting” little kids.It didn’t take much convincing, actually; she doesn’t really want Murphy influencing the younger boys anymore than he already does.

Finn and Bellamy get another one of the smaller, private rooms, and Clarke doesn’t argue about that, either, despite the fact that awarding them a private room sends a signal about their status and power within the group.But she remembers her mother telling her that it’s unrealistic to win every Council meeting, and she lets it go. 

 

_“There’s an ancient saying that says we should pick our battles, Clarke,” she said with a sigh after one particularly contentious Council meeting when Clarke was about twelve.“Do you know what that means?Picking our battles?”_

_Clarke shook her head._

_“It means that sometimes you compromise in the short-term in order to move your agenda forward in the long-term.”_

_Clarke contemplated this a moment.“Like when I agree to play chess with Wells so that he’ll go exploring with me in the woods later?”_

_Her mother chuckled, pressed a kiss into her forehead.“Exactly like that, my wise princess.”_

 

But thoughts of her mother are currently forbidden for Clarke, so she stops the memory as soon as it starts.Thoughts of her mother, her father, of Wells, of Chancellor Jaha, even of Junior Chancellor Kane… thoughts of dead bodies, some of them beaten beyond recognition, others still smoldering… These thoughts are all forbidden.Because following them will make her come undone.And she cannot afford to become undone.

She shuts them away, deep into a dark box within her mind, returns her attention to the tasks at hand.

An hour or two passes like this, with Clarke wandering from room to room, making sure everyone’s okay, that no one’s crying, that no one’s arguing over who gets the top bunk, when an older woman who reminds Clarke entirely too much of her mother walks into the building.The woman’s accompanied by a girl and a boy, both about Clarke’s age, and she identifies herself as the village healer, the two teens as her apprentices.

Clarke goes with them, following them to each group of kids as she inspects them, cleans dirty scratches and scrapes, bandages the ones bad enough to need it.The kids, especially the small ones, become still and watchful in the healer’s presence.One little girl actually bursts into tears when the woman walks into the room, and Clarke has to hold her on her lap and rock her before she calms down enough to get through the medical examination. 

The woman, whose salt-and-pepper hair hangs behind her in a long braid as she smiles kindly at her new patients, is the first adult most of these kids have seen in four weeks, Clarke realizes.She’s not the only one who’s being painfully reminded of her mother.

When the healer gets to Raven, she carefully unwraps the dirty bandages, tenderly prods at the yellowing bruises, and frowns. 

“How did this happen?” she asks.

“I slipped one morning, after a hard rain.Fell down a ravine, banged my leg up on some rocks.”She grimaces and points to a scabbed-over gash, the wound that keeps reopening and bleeding through its bandage every few days.“That’s where a tree branch attacked me.”

The woman purses her lips.“I think you have a spider fracture,” she concludes.“It’s not a full break; it should heal if you stay off of it for a few weeks and get enough to eat.But this cut needs stitches.”

Clarke nods, impressed by the woman’s understanding.Clarke’s mother was the healer for the Station; Clarke, as most children were expected to do, was training to follow in her footsteps.She already knew Raven’s wound needed stitches, but wandering in the woods as they were, without any medical supplies, without any way to sterilize those supplies even if she had them, Clarke had simply bandaged it tightly and hoped for the best.Now, feeling somewhat guilty for not finding a way to stitch the wound sooner, she offers to help the healer, explaining that she is like an apprentice herself, but the woman turns her down.Clarke had expected as much.She wanders to the next room.

The healer finishes eventually, and their next visitor is a man with rations, which reignites the chaos amongst Clarke’s forty-six wards before Bellamy finally raises his voice and gets them to all calm down.He distributes the food fairly with the help of his sister and Finn, making sure the little kids get fed first and not letting anyone take more than their share.Clarke catches his eye, nods in appreciation.He hesitates for a moment, like he doesn’t want to accept her thanks, her subtle truce, but finally he nods back.

By the time the sun goes down, Clarke’s exhausted.In truth, she’s _been_ exhausted for weeks, ever since she cautiously crept back to the smoking station to find every man, woman, and child either dead or gone. 

But that’s another forbidden thought.

She makes one final loop through the quarantine rooms, struggling to keep her eyes open but happy to see that some of the kids are already slumbering peacefully on their bunks.Raven is one of them, snoring loudly as Harper leans on the window sill and stares out at nothing in particular.Clarke passes the room by without disturbing Harper, without drawing attention to herself.

The older guys are playing cards in Murphy’s room, she sees; the deck’s missing an Ace of Spades but is otherwise complete.It’s the only form of entertainment they’ve had on their month-long sojourn through the wilderness, and although Clarke never joins in, seeing them play brings a sense of familiarity, even security.Like Raven’s snoring, it tells her that they’re alright, they’re safe, at least for now. 

Finn sees her when she peers into the room, gives her a hopeful smile and waves her over, but she shakes her head, declining the invitation as always, and moves on heavy feet towards her own door, shutting it softly behind her.

 

#

 

She starts awake several hours later, heart thudding wildly like a horse kicking at its stall, and she reaches instinctively for the machete that always rests behind her, only to remember it’s not there.

Warm fingers brush across her cheek, moving blonde hair out of her face. 

 _“Shh._ It’s only me.It’s just me, Clarke.”

Clarke lets out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding at the sound of Octavia’s voice. 

“But — Charlotte…?” she says, the words half-protest, half-question.Charlotte, a twelve year-old, was one of the kids the healer spent the most time with, replacing Clarke’s makeshift sling with a splint and giving her a strong dose of pain-relieving tea.

“Fast asleep,” Octavia answers.“Along with the other five little girls you stuck me with.”

In the darkness, Clarke can’t see the rueful grin, but she hears it in Octavia’s voice. 

“Scoot,” Octavia commands, patting Clarke’s hip, and Clarke, smiling, shifts sideways in the small bed to make room for her.The warm fingers come back to Clarke’s face, and this time there’s no hair to move, so Octavia just strokes her cheek, her jaw, her lips.Taking her time.Clarke lets her eyes flutter closed with a contented sigh.A moment later, Octavia’s up on one elbow, leaning over Clarke, her long, dark hair tickling Clarke’s cheek, which makes Clarke giggle into the kiss that follows.Clarke relaxes into the kiss, runs her hands down Octavia’s sides, pulling her closer.

When Octavia breaks away, a sudden panic rises in Clarke’s throat, and she glances anxiously towards the closed door.“What about your brother?” she whispers.

Light, pecking kisses land along Clarke’s cheeks, move down and get wetter as Octavia’s mouth reaches her neck.“He hasn’t caught us yet, has he?”Octavia’s voice is muffled, lips against Clarke’s collarbone.She pushes the fabric of Clarke’s new, clean shirt down a little to gain more access.Goosebumps rise on Clarke’s skin.

“No, but…”Clarke trails off, not able to think of an objection.

Octavia pauses in her ministrations, pushes her almost-black hair over one shoulder as she props herself up, leaning over Clarke.Clarke can’t see the expression on her face because of the shadows, but she suspects it’s rueful again. 

“If he didn’t ever catch us out _there,”_ Octavia whispers, and Clarke can smell the earthy scent of the venison stew still on her breath, “when we were all sleeping against each other like piglets, what makes you think he’s going to catch us in _here,_ with two closed doors between us and him?”

Clarke’s hand comes up, tracing invisible lines across Octavia’s brow, down across her temple, her jawline.“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs.“I wish we didn’t always have to do this in the middle of the night.I want to be able to see your beautiful face.”

Octavia slides a hand under Clarke’s shirt, across the bare skin of her stomach.Clarke sucks in a small gasp, feels Octavia smile against her palm.

“You had your chance, back at the Station,” Octavia says.She turns her head, kisses Clarke’s palm.“You chose not to take it.”

Clarke’s about to protest, defend herself, but fingers fumble with the drawstrings to her pants, and she forgets what she was going to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betcha didn't see *that* coming. ;-)
> 
> (I know I didn't)


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Clarke settles in, has a late night visit from Octavia.
> 
> This chapter: Lexa's got issues with her Officer Corps

5

 

While Clarke settled her people into the quarantine building and followed the village healer from room to room, Lexa sent her apprentices to fetch the Officer Corps, calling them into the Grand Hall to an unscheduled meeting.Some of them, late risers who preferred to spend these last few days before the Spring Hunt in bed with wives or husbands or lovers, grumbled at being roused for an impromptu meeting so soon after the dawn.Others, truculent and resentful of Lexa’s power over them even on the best of days, were already downright angry by the time they took their place at the long table in the hall’s center.

From the hidden peephole in her antechamber at the back of the hall, Lexa watched warily as they entered one by one, marking the ones she’d need to convince, weighing which ones might be her allies in the debate that was to come, pondering what incentives she might be able to offer to the ones who would need a small bribe before they would openly support her.

Roan is the first to arrive, and although the recently dispatched Goran had been his second cousin, he is a reasonable, pragmatic man who prefers harmony over acrimony, growth over stagnation.Lexa will probably be able to win him over. 

The next two who come in are unlikely to support her.There’s the barrel-chested Julius, his long, grey dreadlocks more unkempt than usual at this early hour, already bemoaning the interruption to his sleep.Following on his heels like a runtish hunting dog is Daris, a man as narrow and wiry as Julius is brawny.He whispers into Julius’s ear conspiratorially as he takes his spot next to the bigger man, and Lexa grits her teeth, reminded of gossiping old women.

Titus strides in, his long robe brushing the floor with an authoritative _swish,_ and Lexa knows without needing to check his face that he’s already been awake for several hours.Anya, Tristan, Harvard, and Indra come in last.Lexa counts them.Seven officers plus Titus.Where is the last one?

No sooner does she have the thought than Lincoln stumbles into the room — still drunk from the night before, by the looks of it.She shakes her head in disgust, allowing herself a moment of pity, then a moment of disappointment with the young man she once thought so promising. _Perhaps one day…_ she begins to think, but she pushes the thought away.There have been more than enough “one days;” Lincoln has had enough chances already.

She watches as the nine men and women in the Grand Hall settle themselves into their usual spots.Titus sits alone and regal to the right of her chair, as he usually does, folding his hands on the tabletop as if showing he has nothing to hide.He looks at no one.The typical fault lines show themselves:Anya, Indra, and Tristan sit together.Harvard positions himself next to Roan.Lincoln sits on the other side of Daris, but only because it’s the only free chair left.Daris only notices that someone has sat down beside him when Lincoln slumps forward, supporting himself with the table, and Daris responds with a contemptuous sneer, saying something that Lexa can’t catch.

They’re all assembled, then.She steps away from the peephole, adjusts the ancient layer of armor she always wears beneath her black tunic, wincing when it chafes against the healing gash on her side.

She waits until one of her apprentices, a boy of eleven by the name of Aden, taps softly on her door.Lexa takes a steadying breath that no one will see, then opens the door and strides into the room.

Chairs stutter against stone as the Officer Corps rises as one body from their seats.Julius is a little slow to stand, Lexa notes, but he still rises within a fraction of a second of the rest.Aden pulls Lexa’s chair out for her and she dismisses him with a curt nod before sitting.Chair legs shuffle again as the rest of them sit.

“Thank you for heeding my summons at such an early hour,” she tells them, careful to look each one of them in the eye so that she cannot be accused of ignoring this one or favoring that one.

They respond with silent, respectful nods, waiting for her to go on.At the end of the table, Lincoln belches loudly; Daris and Harvard both snigger, while the knuckles on Titus’s hands go white.

Choosing to ignore Lincoln, Lexa states baldly, “Olaf Son-Olsen, head of the night guard, called on me this morning at first light to inform me that a group of forty-seven children and teens stood at our doorstep.”This earns a surprised murmur from the officers, and the sound ripples around the table like soft wind in autumn leaves.The settlement that Lexa commands is a relatively isolated one; it is rare for strangers to appear, let alone in such numbers.“Their leader requested an audience with our leader, and refused to speak to Olaf or to leave until her request for an audience was granted.”

“Her?” repeats Roan.

“Yes.Her.And I granted her request.”

Titus blanches at this news.“But Commander, that’s not — ”

“Her name is Clarke Griffin,” Lexa continues, pointedly refusing to acknowledge the objection of the Fleimkeepa.“She calls herself the junior princess of a place called ‘the Station.’”

“I know of the Station,” says Tristan with a note of interest in his voice.He is one of Lexa’s most trusted scouts, and has traveled further from the settlement than nearly anyone in living memory.“It’s north east of here — quite far, actually, almost to Delphi.We thought of establishing trade relations with them some years ago, but it’s more than a week’s journey.And rife with bandits and beggars and nomads.”

Lexa nods, having already established this herself by consulting the atlas she keeps hidden in her quarters.The atlas, marked with faded, smudged pencil scrawls in the handwriting of her grandfather, is one of the forbidden items her father left behind when he died. 

“According to Clarke Griffin,” Lexa says, “the Station settlement was razed about one month ago by a hostile group.She and her people have been wandering ever since, surviving on what they’ve been able to forage from the woods.”More murmuring from the Officers.“Some of them are injured; all of them look half-starved.She requested shelter and food in exchange for labor, and I granted her request.”

The quiet murmuring quickly morphs into louder voices, including Julius’s, rising above the rest: _“What?!_ Commander, you have no right to — ”

“I have _every_ right,” Lexa says sternly, cutting him off.“I _earned_ the right to make decisions for this community when I became Commander.Or have you forgotten that?”

She fixes her green eyes on him, hard and unyielding.Everyone in the room knows that Goran challenged Lexa for the role of Commander mainly at Julius’s urging.Julius is too old, too fat, and too slow to survive a battle with her himself, so he whispers in the ears of those younger and more hot-headed than him, manipulating them until they develop ideas they think are their own.

“Commander,” Harvard says slowly, breaking the thick silence.He is leaned back in his chair, elbows on its arms, fingers steepled before his fancy ermine-trimmed vest.“Of course you do have the right to grant such a request.Everyone seated at this table knows that.”He glances meaningfully to his right, looking past his friend Roan to meet the eyes of Julius, then Daris.“However, it was a long winter, and our food stores are nearly gone.Bringing in another forty-seven mouths to feed…when they are complete strangers… and children at that…”He trails off, rolling his palms skyward with a grimace, as if it pains him to deliver this bad news to Lexa.“Commander, as one of your advisors, I must say that I fail to see how this will benefit Polis.”

Lexa nods, having expected either Harvard, Roan, or Indra to bring up the issue of food, which is the most obvious objection to her decision.“Two weeks ago, I suggested that we expand our agricultural operations.”

“Not this again,” mutters Daris, under his breath but just loud enough to hear.

 _Like a petulant apprentice,_ Lexa thinks, irritated.

She turns towards him sharply.“Speak out of turn again in that same insubordinate tone, and I _will_ have you removed from this meeting.And perhaps the entire Officer Corps.Is that perfectly clear, Daris Son-Daris?”

He rolls his eyes, making him look even more like someone’s disobedient Second.“Yes, _Commander.”_ He spits Lexa’s title, as if he can’t stand the taste of it in his mouth. 

Her stomach knots a bit at the tone, because, despite the recent challenge brought by Goran, she hadn’t realized just how close she was to an all-out coup.

 _Pick your battles,_ Lexa, she tells herself.It was a saying her father used to use, something he’d tell her every time she came home mud-splattered, nose bloodied again, face covered with the snot and tears of her indignity.

 

 _“Bullies are worth fighting,” he’d said understandingly, cleaning her face up one afternoon while they waited for the healer to arrive to set her broken nose.“But what you really want — what you_ need, _Lexa — is a decisive victory.You need to wait until the time is right so that you can beat him once and for all, and sometimes that means not fighting in the short-run.Do you understand, my little wolf pup?”_

_Lexa had nodded that she did.Yuri was the biggest bully in the whole village, everyone knew that.And one day, she’d show him.She’d beat him once and for all._

_She didn’t expect that “showing him” would involve shoving her sword through his throat five years later at the Conclave, but sometimes, Lady Justice is a lover who makes harsh demands._

 

Lexa picks her battle.Rather than follow Daris any further into the tarpit trap he’s set for her, she continues laying out her plan.“When I suggested expanding agricultural operations, several of you argued that we didn’t have enough able bodies to spare.You said — rightly — that the Spring Hunt is almost upon us, and we need every fit man and woman to join in.And the Spring Hunt and its subsequent activities unfortunately falls at the same time as planting season, which is why our farming operations have always been merely supplemental to our diet.But I believe that with the forty-seven refugees, we will be able to accomplish both tasks — the Spring Hunt will continue as planned; the agricultural operations can simultaneously be expanded.”Anya is already nodding her approval; Indra, typically hard to convince, nods as well, albeit a little more slowly.“Further, I’ve already told Clarke Griffin that her people will only stay until harvest time.After that, we will ask them to move on.”

Roan clears his throat.“Commander, you said these refugees are all apprentice-aged, did you not?”

“Many of them.Some look as if they have come of age.”

“With refugees so young, how can we be sure they even have the skills necessary to maintain our agricultural operations?”

Lexa has mentally prepared for this question as well, but before she can give her answer, Tristan speaks up again.

“I can answer that — if you don’t mind, Commander?” 

Lexa gives a small wave of her hand, permission for Tristan to carry on.

He addresses Roan and Harvard, not bothering to include Daris, Julius, or Lincoln in his gaze.“The Station is — was — a farming community.That’s why we had intended to establish trade relations with them in the first place.They were one of the biggest farming settlements in their whole region.”

“Bigger is not always better,” Julius counters. 

It is a common saying in Polis, an adage they’ve relied upon for their survival ever since the original wave of the virus turned men and women into walking, snarling, flesh-eating corpses. _Bigger is not always better_ is why each couple in Polis is permitted only one child most years. _Bigger is not always better_ is why even the Grand Hall is spartan, bare. _Bigger is not always better_ is the real reason why the Officer Corps is so uncomfortable with the idea of expanding agricultural operations. _Why, with a relatively steady population, would we need to expand our operations in the first place?_ they wondered out-loud two weeks ago in this very room.Anya and Indra had been the only ones Lexa could convince, and even then, only because of their personal loyalty.

But Lexa has a secret that not even Anya knows:She became the Commander precisely because she hates _Bigger is not always better._ Because _Bigger is not always better_ took the life of her unauthorized little sister, of her rebellious father. _Bigger is not always better_ turned her mother into a catatonic shell; _Bigger is not always better_ stole Lexa’s dignity and the remainder of her childhood.She became the Commander because _Bigger is not always better_ is killing Polis, and Polis is the only thing she has left to love.

“It is true,” Lexa says to Julius, nodding as if she accepts his point.“Bigger is not always better.But imagine if, five winters ago, we’d had extra food stores.The famine that nearly destroyed Polis might’ve been averted.”

Roan and Harvard appear to think about this.After a moment, Roan nods.

Good.She’s won over Anya, Indra, and Tristan even before this meeting; now with Roan on board, Harvard will follow shortly.Titus will struggle because he dislikes any type of change, but he will come around eventually.As for Lincoln… he looks to Lexa like he’s barely keeping his eyes open at this point.He is too weak to offer any objections, even if he had any. 

That only leaves Daris and Julius, who will not agree with her about anything, ever, for any reason.It doesn’t matter to her; as long as they are the only two, there will be no more Gorans, no more Yuris for a while.

“Will we get to meet this leader of theirs?” asks Harvard.“This… what was her name again?”

“Clarke Griffin.And, yes, you will meet her and her Officer Corps once their week of quarantine has ended.Although — I do intend to keep them housed in the quarantine building,” Lexa adds.

“Wise,” Tristan agrees, because they all know that having forty-seven strangers inside the walls of Polis is already asking for citizens to accept quite a lot.Keeping them somewhat hidden, somewhat forgotten within the ruins of the former school building on the edge of the settlement is a way to mitigate that.

“Very well,” Lexa says definitively.She rises from her chair, and the rest of them hastily do the same.“Enjoy your last days before the Spring Hunt.May you live another day.”

“May you live another day,” they reply, nearly in unison as Lexa leaves the room.

 

#

 

The rest of her day is taken up with preparing for the new agricultural operations.She visits the few farmers of Polis as they tend to pigs and cows and till the soil, their children scampering through the fields in bare, dirty feet, collecting rocks.The farmers’ faces light up with her news, but she keeps her own eyes and face neutral, even though she wants to share in their joy.She asks them what they’ll need; she makes a series of mental lists as she listens.Then she visits Titus and she sends her two Seconds, Aden and Ontari, off on errands to begin gathering supplies for the farmers.She visits the smith, discusses shovels, hoes, spades, and then she’s off to the leatherworker, then the tailor, then the cobbler, to discuss the clothes her forty-seven visitors have already used and the replacements she needs to commission.

She could’ve easily sent Titus or Anya or even Aden on these small missions, but she wants all of Polis to know this is _her_ project — it is her idea, it has her complete support.And if it fails, it will be her responsibility.

All the while, a voice speaks in the back of her mind.It is her father’s voice, her baby sister’s, her mother’s.It chants: _Feed them.Fill their bellies.Feed your people, Lexa.Feed them._

One day, when there is finally enough, when no one goes hungry, when each family has its own store of food, like the fairy tale stories her grandfather used to tell her when she was small, then no one will say _Bigger is not always better._ No one will say couples should only have one children because more than one is a strain on the whole community.And after that day, no one’s baby sister, no one’s father will ever die again in a grisly, public execution.

_Feed them.Fill their bellies._

By the time the sun falls, Lexa is exhausted.She falls asleep nearly the moment she closes her eyes.A few hours later, at about the same time that Octavia climbs into bed with Clarke, she starts awake again, worries spinning out into uneven, wobbling orbits inside her head.In moments like this, she wishes that she, like her Officers, had someone lying beside her.Someone she could tell her troubles to until the orbits righted themselves and she could fall asleep again.

But to be the Commander is to be all alone.And even if there was someone next to her, she would still carry the burden of leadership herself.The thought provides no comfort, but after an hour of tossing and turning, sheer exhaustion forces Lexa back asleep, into anxious, disjointed dreams of the day her sister died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Lexa's meeting with her Officer Corps.
> 
> This chapter: Lexa's second meeting with Clarke.
> 
> (Sorry, not the most exciting last couple of chapters; setting it up for more action, I promise.)

6

 

The sound of her own strangled scream is what wakes Clarke.Her eyes fly wide open, expecting to be faced with the sight of her father, throat slit, lying in a pool of his own blood.Or of Chancellor Jaha, the side of his skull crushed and blank eyes staring skyward.

But instead, she sees only weak, early morning sunlight filtering in through the cracked, grey remnants of a windowpane.

 _Real glass,_ Clarke remembers.She’s never in her life seen as much real glass as there is in this settlement’s quarantine building.The _quarantine_ building.She can only imagine what the rest of the settlement must be like.It seems to her that the lowliest person here must live like a Council member at the Station would.

Clarke rolls over, hoping but not really expecting that Octavia will still be there, sleeping soundly beside her.But Octavia’s gone, of course.There’s not even a warm spot in the bed left behind as evidence of her presence.Clarke runs her palm over the indentation Octavia left in the bed anyway.

With a sigh, she rolls out of bed, crosses the narrow space between the straw mattress and the window, runs the tips of her fingers over the smooth glass.It’s only a part of a window; about a foot of glass is at the bottom, with the rest of it covered up with rough-hewn planks.As she stands there admiring the glass, a flash of movement catches her eye.Heart in her throat, still caught between the nightmare of a few minutes earlier and the more forgiving morning sun, Clarke leans down, squints through the dirty window.

And sees _her._

The Commander walks briskly towards the quarantine building in long, purposeful strides, trailed by two kids who look to be about twelve, a bald man in a long brown robe tied at the waist with a bit of rope, and, bringing up the rear, another man — this one is a giant with a bushy black beard, long braided hair, and no fewer than three knives hanging from his belt.

Another figure comes into view, but only their side and back is visible from Clarke’s angle.But her stomach twists when she sees the person’s imposing height, curly mop of dark hair, stubborn set of their shoulders.

Bellamy.

“Dammit,” she mutters under her breath. 

Moments later, she’s dressed and rushing from the room.

 

#

 

Lexa recognizes the look on the face of the young man who greets her at the entrance of the quarantine building.It’s the same expression Daris wore yesterday during the meeting in the Grand Hall, the same look Goran had before he exercised his right to challenge her for the role of Commander. 

This young man reeks of defiance. 

And the dark-haired girl who stands behind him and to the side?The family resemblance is obvious right away.It’s his baby sister.Knowing this sends a knife of pain into Lexa’s heart, tearing at the scar tissue that surrounds memories of her own baby sister, but the sudden pang doesn’t interfere with her ability to assess the girl.She’s every bit as defiant as her brother, Lexa notes, but there’s a sly cleverness in her brown eyes that’s missing from his.

He will be all bombastic bluster; the girl is the more the kind to lull you to sleep and then stab you in the back.

Which makes her far more dangerous than him.

These are the typical kinds of equations Lexa’s used to running, constantly solving and then readjusting them in her head as new variables come to light.This brother and sister pair are new variables, ones that she will watch closely.She won’t let them change the outcome of her equation:Her people will be well-fed this year, regardless of how the Spring Hunt goes.If she has to remove some variables to make that happen, well, so be it. 

All of this she decides before she ever makes it within ten paces of them.The rest of her entourage must decide the same thing, because her two Seconds fan out, positioning themselves by her side instead of behind her when she stops walking, and Gustus too comes around from the back to step between Lexa and the siblings without seeking permission first.

She lets him.A show of force early in the game might solve problems before they ever start.

“Did the healer send you?” the young man asks her.“Because she already spent hours here yesterday.We proved we don’t have the virus.”

Lexa shakes her head.“I am not the healer.”

“Who are you, then?”He speaks with authority and confidence, not concerned in the least that his tone is both challenging and rude.

In front of her, Gustus growls like an angry dog.

The young man’s head whips in Gustus’s direction, his hand automatically flitting to his side where, Lexa guesses, he must be used to feeling the weight of a blade hanging near his hip.

Lexa lifts her chin with a challenge of her own, and is about to answer him when Clarke Griffin rushes out the front door of the quarantine.

“Commander,” she says, dipping her head deferentially.“It’s nice to see you again.I still can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for us.”Clarke glances at the young man with the curly hair, clearly trying to send him a signal with her eyes.Looking back at Lexa, she says, “My people went to bed with full stomachs last night for the first time in a month.And your healer did an excellent job tending to the injured ones.And — ” she pinches the deerskin tunic she’s wearing “ — having clothes that aren’t caked with mud and smelling of river water, that’s really more than I could’ve even hoped for.”

Lexa lowers her chin, studies Clarke.“The healer tells me she examined all of you.Twelve of your people require rest for injury or illness; none of them show signs of having the virus, but to be safe, they will not be permitted to leave the building for the next week.”

Next to Clarke, the young man’s face darkens with storm clouds of resentment and he opens his mouth to say something, but the sister subtly touches his arm with her hand, and whatever he had planned to say fizzles on his lips.

It is as Lexa thought.The girl is wiser than the boy.

Clarke doesn’t see the interaction; her eyes are trained on Lexa.“The rest of us are ready to work.As we discussed.”

“Which is why I came this morning.My farmers are already organizing for your arrival.With the aid of your people, they are preparing for a great expansion of our planting operations this season.But first… I had intended to wait a week, but based on the report of the healer yesterday, I want you to attend a meeting this afternoon with our Officer Corps.Some of them have questions about your presence within our village.”

Clarke nods.“I understand — they want to know who you let into their settlement.I’d be happy to meet with them.”She hesitates a moment, then asks, “Can I bring some of my own people along?Some of them would also like to meet all of you.”

“Of course.But no more than five,” Lexa says.Even though the Station refugees are weaponless, weak, and apparently harmless, Lexa has survived as long as she has by being cautious.She won’t let Clarke’s people outnumber the Officer Corps.“I will return after the delivery of your midday meal and escort you to the meeting.”

They say their goodbyes.Lexa and her entourage head back for the Grand Hall.

“I still don’t see the wisdom in bringing forty-seven more mouths to feed into Polis,” Titus complains once they are out of earshot.“They’re barely more than children.They’ll eat more food than they manage to help produce.”

“You said _I_ was barely more than a child a few years ago,” Lexa snips irritably.“And you predicted my decisions would lead to my death or the death of scores of others on more than one occasion.But have you been right yet?”

The Fleimkeepa drops his eyes.“No, Commander.I have not.”

“Then do your job, Titus.Be my eyes and ears.Find out which Officers still insist upon stirring up trouble.Find out what their clans are saying.And if any of the complaining gets too loud, let me know immediately.”

“Yes, Commander,” he says, defeated.

She strides ahead of her small knot of assistants, the tip of an invisible spear.

 

#

 

Clarke watches the Commander and her people stride back up the hill and through the rusted ruin of what was once a chain-link fence towards the village proper. 

Two things already stand out to Clarke from the brief encounter:First, _“great expansion of our planting operations.”_ What did that mean?Were their agricultural endeavors not large already?Before they showed themselves yesterday, Clarke, Bellamy, and Murphy had scouted the entire perimeter of the village.If their step count was accurate, the walls around the settlement enclosed a giant rectangle that was over a mile on its long side.Clarke had assumed that a settlement that big would already have a substantial amount of farming inside.So why a “great expansion”?

The second thing that stood out to Clarke was the way the Commander had hesitated for a moment before bringing up the meeting with whatever the Officer Corps was.Clarke had never heard of an “Officer Corps,” but she grew up in a Council family and knows the sound of political positioning when she hears it. 

The Commander’s moving the meeting with this Officer Corps up by a week.There must be something she needs to prove to them — and soon.

Clarke draws in a breath, already preparing a mental to-do-list for her upcoming meeting with the other settlement leaders.

“I want to be one of the five to go with you,” Bellamy announces.

She nods absentmindedly.“I was already going to ask you.”

“Murphy and Finn should be there, too.To protect you in case anything goes wrong.”

“Protect me?If they wanted to hurt us, they could’ve done so a long time ago.We don’t have any weapons.”Beneath her tunic, against the small of her back, the broken letter opener burns like a hot coal.She doubts any of the rest of them had the foresight to hide anything from the guards when they were searched and had their weapons confiscated.

“We don’t _know_ these people, Princess,” Bellamy says, taking a step into her personal space.“I want people I trust around us for this meeting.”

She steps back.“So do I.Which means that Finn can come.But not Murphy.”

“Murphy — ”

“Was about to be tried for attempted murder and probably would’ve been exiled, if the Mountain Men hadn’t shown up.He’s not coming.That’s final.”She locks eyes with him, refusing to look away.

“Alright, fine,” Bellamy concedes after a moment, sighing in frustration.“If not Murphy, then I want — ”

“It’s not about what you want.We’re not a democracy and _you’re_ not in charge.”

“But you are?”

“I am the last surviving member of the Council.”

“You weren’t on the Council.”

“I would’ve been,” she says stubbornly.“In a few years.”

“Maybe.Only if your half-brother had died.”

“Wells _did_ die.Along with everyone else.” 

He stares at her, eyes burning, jaw muscles working back and forth as he struggles to come up with another objection.He can’t.

But what Clarke says about Wells dying is only an assumption.The actual truth is that they’d never found the bodies of Wells, her mother, Junior Chancellor Kane, and a handful of other Station residents.At first, she’d hoped they’d escaped.They waited in the caves for them, hoping someone would come back for them.But after a week passed with no sign, they moved on.The caves were too close to the Mountain to be safe long-term.And they were already lucky they hadn’t been discovered.

“Bell,” Octavia says, stepping up and resting a hand on his shoulder.“Stop acting like she’s wrong.You know it’s the truth.And she’s done a good job taking care of us.You even said so yourself.”

He’s statue-still for a moment longer, then finally relents, seeming to deflate.“Okay,” he says, addressing Clarke.“Who else is coming besides me and Finn?”

“Miller,” Clarke says immediately.Miller grumbles, but he’s reliable.“Monty,” she adds a moment later, because Monty is one of the brightest of all her people, and he knows when to keep his mouth shut.She would’ve chosen Raven rather than Monty, but she’s still on bedrest.“And… Octavia.”

Both Bellamy and Octavia look shocked by this.

“No,” Bellamy says.“Not my sister.I won’t have her walking into the wolves’ den.”

“She’s coming,” Clarke says firmly, then catches Octavia’s eye.“Unless… you don’t want to?”

There’s a moment’s pause, then the girl shakes her head vigorously.“I want to.I’m coming.”

“Good,” Clarke says, relaxing.“I think I’m going to rest a little longer.I’ll be in my room if either of you need anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys.
> 
> I've had a really hard week. 
> 
> I'm an American, and I just can't believe what my country did on Tuesday. Well, okay -- *technically,* we DID NOT elect Donald Trump. Because actually, Hillary won the popular vote. Why didn't we learn this lesson in 2000 when we "elected" George Bush even though Al Gore got the popular vote? Why, in the name of all that is holy, do we still have an electoral college?
> 
> Anyway -- even though he didn't technically win, it still hurts so much to think that about 47% of my country thinks mistreating and bullying immigrants, women, brown people, gay people, Muslim people, and disabled people is A-OK. Honestly, the last time world events upset me this much, the date was September 11, 2001.
> 
> But writing... and reading... that's made a crappy week just a little better. Two of the fics I love posted new chapters this week, and I was so grateful. It made me think I needed to post a new chapter, too, in case anyone out there might find a little comfort in my own silly story. So here ya go.
> 
> In other news, those of you who read my previous fic (To Have Loved & Lost) might like to know that it's doing REALLY WELL on Amazon! Here's the link if you want to check it out: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01M7YF05A
> 
> PS, it could use some more positive reviews, so if you read it and you want to take the time to review it, that would be awesome-socks. :-)
> 
> PPS, I dedicated the book to all of you. Seriously -- check it out in the Amazon preview.


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Tense exchanges between Lexa and Bellamy, Bellamy and Clarke.
> 
> This chapter: Lexa and Clarke have their first real one-on-one conversation, which is cut short by...

7

 

Ten quiet days pass without incident.

The meeting between Clarke Griffin and the Officer Corps goes as well as Lexa could’ve expected.Everyone divided along their normal lines, with Daris and Julius voicing the strongest opposition; Anya, Tristan, and Indra supporting Lexa as a matter of course; Roan and Harvard waiting to be convinced; Titus sitting in stoic, disapproving haughtiness; Lincoln barely paying attention — except to perk up when the good-looking sister of the blustery young man waltzed into the Grand Hall behind Clarke.

As for Clarke herself, Lexa had been impressed with the deft grace she showed through it all; Clarke refused to be rattled by Daris’s pointed questions, answered Harvard with tact and intelligence, and kept her own entourage silent at critical moments with mere glances.

It was a good meeting.

Hours later, Clarke organized the fittest and oldest of her people to prepare the fields at the rear of the village for planting.Each day since, Lexa has watched them arrive shortly after dawn, work the fields all day, and leave only when dusk falls.Not all of Clarke’s people are happy, Lexa observes, but all of them obey her.For now, that’s good enough for Lexa.

Meanwhile, nearly every able-bodied man and woman of Polis left four days ago for the Spring Hunt.Lexa would normally go with them, but with nearly fifty strangers in her village and all her best warriors on the hunt, she opted to stay behind with the skeleton crew still in Polis.Not that she anticipates trouble from Clarke or the rest of the Station people, but on the off-chance that something _were_ to happen while Lexa was away, it could easily trigger another challenge to her commandership.

So for now, it’s just her in the village, along with her skeleton crew of guards and all those either too old, too young, or too lame to join in the hunt.Even Gustus, Titus, and her two Seconds have left; Lexa hasn’t had this much time alone since she won the commandership three years ago.

It’s dawn now, and she’s leaving her private quarters at the back of the Grand Hall after a simple breakfast of dried meat and herb tea.She’ll be glad when the Spring Hunt brings fresh meat.Lexa can barely stand another day of jerky.

She’s been walking the perimeter of village every morning since the hunters left, stopping occasionally to test the strength of Polis’s ancient, rusting walls, clear away refuse, or just to pause and watch the sun as it begins its climb up the sky.Mending walls and clearing brush isn’t the job of a Commander, it’s the job of a Second at best, but Lexa believes her people need to see her doing these things from time to time, they need to remember that Lexa isn’t their tyrant but, ultimately, their servant.Seeing your Commander kneel before a wall to clear away the dried leaves of winter engenders affection and loyalty.

 

_“What is a leader, Lexa?” her father asked her once, when Costia was still crawling and Lexa wasn’t yet old enough to even be a Second._

_“The one who wins the Conclave,” Lexa answered automatically, wondering why her father would ask such an obvious question.Everyone knew that when the old Commander died or stepped down, the Conclave determined who the next Commander would be._

_But her father held up a finger triumphantly at her response._

_“Wrong,” he said, grinning.“The leader is the one with the followers.That is what defines leadership, Lexa.Never forget that.”_

_“Oh, Daedalus,” came the voice of Lexa’s mother from the other room.“What nonsense are you filling her head with this time?”_

_“Nothing to concern yourself with, dear heart,” he replied, winking at his eldest daughter with the air of a co-conspirator.“Just giving some advice to our future little Commander.”_

 

 _A leader is the one with the followers._ Lexa hasn’t forgotten.

She pauses in her work of clearing away the brush from the wall when she catches a glimpse of movement coming from down the hill.Glancing up, she’s surprised to see Clarke, trudging in her direction.Clarke doesn’t see Lexa, though; for a moment, Lexa sits back on her haunches, watching the girl.

She seems distracted, pensive, Lexa decides.That, and tired.Her straw-colored hair is braided behind her, but it’s messy, as if she braided it a day or two ago and hasn’t attempted to clean it up in that time.Her clothes are slightly dirty and disheveled, and she clutches her sides as she walks, as if bracing against the cold or protecting a wound.

Slowly, so as not to startle her, Lexa rises from her spot by the wall, lifting a hand in greeting.Clarke looks _through_ Lexa at first, not processing her presence, but then does a double-take, recognizes that it’s the Commander, and immediately stops and bends her knees into her strange little half-bow.

“Commander,” she says in a surprised tone, sounding a little winded from the long climb up the hill.“I didn’t know… I didn’t expect to see you out here, so early in the morning.”

Lexa nods solemnly, points at the pile of branches and leaves at her feet.“We clear away the dead wood and leaves each spring from the walls.When it builds up, it’s a — ”

“Fire hazard,” Clarke agrees, nodding in understanding.“We did the same thing at the Station.Except that our walls didn’t go all the way around the village, and they were wooden.”

Wooden walls.And incomplete.Lexa marvels at this fact, wonders how the community survived as long as it did with such negligence.The strangeness of it nearly makes her forget that Clarke interrupted her.Again.There’s no end to the girl’s boldness.

“But — Commander, pardon me for saying so, but why are _you_ the one clearing away the old leaves?It seems like someone in Polis would be happy to do it for you.Actually, even some of _my_ people could do this job — the littler ones would probably enjoy it as a break from the fields.”

“Sometimes it is useful for the people to observe their Commander engaged in the simplest of tasks.It makes them remember that the Commander is here for them, cares for them, works on their behalf.”Lexa’s eyes flit to Clarke’s right hand, which is wrapped in a dingy bandage.Rust-colored blood cakes one edge.“Sometimes… leaders need to get their hands dirty.So to speak.”

Clarke follows Lexa’s gaze down to the bandage, rubs it self-consciously with her other hand.“It’s the, uh, planting,” she says, pointing at the bandage.“I’ve been getting blisters; one of them popped yesterday and started to bleed.So I borrowed some supplies from your healer and cleaned it up to prevent infection.I hope you don’t mind.”

Lexa shakes her head.“I don’t mind at all.Where are you headed?I’ll walk with you.”

“I was on my way to the fields.”

“You’ve chosen a rather indirect route, Clarke.”

She shrugs.“I know.But I like the mornings.They’re peaceful.Sometimes I walk the long way, just to… prolong the quiet.”Her eyes drop to Lexa’s pile of branches.“Maybe you know what I mean.”

This time it’s Lexa following Clarke’s gaze, Lexa nodding with a tinge of self-consciousness.It’s not entirely untrue that she’s here, clearing away brush, because she wants to set an example for her people, but it’s also not entirely untrue that she enjoys the still, final few minutes alone before the rest of Polis awakens.

“I do know what you mean,” she says at last.She waves her hand towards the field, and Clarke falls into step beside her.

They walk parallel to the old wall in silence for a minute, their steps punctuated only by the sounds of songbirds in the trees beyond the corrugated steel walls and the rustling of dried leaves underfoot.

“I wasn’t actually raised to farm,” Clarke says, breaking into the silence.“I was supposed to be a healer, like my mother.Like her mother before her.I mean, I knew the basics of farming, because every Station kid knows how to farm at least a little.But I was born into a Council family, so I only helped farm during planting season and harvest season.”

Lexa points at Clarke’s bandaged hand.“Which explains why you don’t already have callouses to protect your hands.”Curious, she asks, “What is a Council?Or a Council family?”

“It’s like your Officer Corps.The Council families are — _were_ — the people who run things at the Station.My family has been a part of the Council from the beginning, when the first wave of the infection hit.So my mother was the senior princess.I was the junior princess.Which meant that I would take her place on the Council one day.That is, if anything happened to my older brother, Wells.”

Lexa raises a surprised eyebrow.“People _inherit_ their role on the Council?”

Clarke nods.“Yes, of course.Why?”

“Then it is not like the Officer Corps at all.No one in Polis is born into a position; people earn their positions through strength and wisdom.”

Lexa faces straight ahead, so she can only see Clarke’s long, appraising look from the corner of her eye.She seems to be thinking about Lexa’s words.

“If everything is earned… What about the Commander?” Clarke asks after a second of staring at Lexa.“How does someone become Commander?”When Lexa doesn’t answer right away, Clarke adds, “Sorry.If it’s rude to ask — I just… I’ve never been to another settlement other than the Station.So I… wondered.How people do things in other places.”

“There’s never anything wrong with wanting to increase your knowledge,” Lexa says, quoting her father.“There are two ways to become Commander.One is to challenge the existing Commander and defeat him or her in battle.The second way is, if the Commander dies or decides to step down, a Conclave is held.Anyone of age who wishes to gain the role may participate.The winner becomes the new Commander.”

“What happens to everyone else?Everyone who doesn’t win?”

Lexa glances at Clarke quickly, to see if she’s joking.But she’s not.Clearly they really _do_ operate differently at the Station.

“Everyone else dies, Clarke.”

The girl’s face freezes in stupefied horror.“They _die?_ Does that mean you — ”

“Commander, Commander!”

Lexa swivels away from Clarke to see one of the guardsmen sprinting towards her.She hasn’t learned his name, but knows he’s a young Second left behind from the hunt as part of Polis’s skeleton crew.

Sides heaving, he halts before his Commander, bowing before her.“The Spring Hunt — some of just arrived back,” he pants.

“Back?” Lexa repeats, brow furrowing.“They aren’t due back for another week.”

He shakes his head.“They’re not all back.The survivors — they say that the rest were killed.Or captured.Tristan Son-Oren, he’s the one who sent me to find you.He and Indra Daughter-Ursa are the only two Officers who returned.And they wish to speak to you right away.”

Lexa feels the eyes of both Clarke and the boy upon her.Her heart races at this dire news, but she doesn’t let her anxiety show on her face.Instead, she simply nods and turns to Clarke.

“You said you were training to be a healer, Clarke?Then I think it best that you come with me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long since last I posted. Between the Post-Election Blues, Real Life busy-ness, and Thanksgiving week, it's been hard to find the time to work on this project. But I'm trying to get back into my rhythm of posting at least once per week.


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter: Clarke and Lexa have their first real one-on-one chat; they are interrupted by a panicked young guardsman who says that the "survivors" of the Spring Hunt have just straggled back to Polis.
> 
> This chapter: Clarke provides some insight about the attack on Lexa's people...

8

 

The Commander takes off towards Polis’s front gates at a run, the young guard keeping pace slightly behind her.Clarke crashes through the field after them, but without any of the deer-like grace the two natives have.She trips on gopher holes more than once, stumbling and catching herself without falling, and at one point the cuff of her buckskin trousers snag on a branch.She stops long enough to shake it off her ankle, staring in frustration at the elegant, receding backs of the Commander and her guard.Clarke’s never been particularly athletic, and the fact that her back and thighs and hamstrings are sore after several days of working in the field aren’t helping.

She catches up with the two again as the wind to the left, running between the shacks that pass as houses for most of the people in the village.A fleeting memory of her first night in Polis flashes through her mind, when she thought the community must be wealthy because of the real glass windows in the old school that serves as the quarantine building. 

In the eleven days that have passed, Clarke’s learned better.The people of Polis have the most rudimentary farming operation she’s ever seen.Their numbers are small because they can barely feed themselves, relying mainly upon big, quarterly hunts, along with some basic gathering and small, supplemental farming.Even a Council family member like Clarke knows more about farming than these people.

Clarke dodges a mangy, barking dog who appears between two of the homes; leaps as gracefully as she can over a muddy puddle, just in time to see the Commander and her companion hang right down the village’s main thoroughfare.She’s still a good twenty yards behind them, but at least they’re running downhill now, past the rusted old chain-link fence, down the embankment, across the open field to where the quarantine building sits next to the village gates.

A group of Polis villagers stand in a ragtag knot just inside the gates.Some of them are bleeding badly.Some of them support one another, injured leaning upon injured.At least one of them appears either dead or unconscious.And all of them have the wide eyes of the frightened or surprised.Whatever happened out there, they clearly weren’t prepared for it.The village healer and her apprentices are already here, scurrying from one wound to the next, ripping off lengths of cloth with her teeth, tying hasty bandages around limbs and necks and heads, only for cloths to immediately bloom red with blood.

Clarke’s sides heave as she pulls up behind the Commander and tries to catch her breath — the Commander, she notices, is hardly breathing hard at all.

“…horde of the infected — at least two dozen — surrounding us,” the dark-skinned one they call Indra says as Clarke arrives.Indra shakes her head sadly, eyes falling to the ground.“We fought our way out, Commander — the infected posed little danger to the experience of our warriors — but we quickly realized that the infected were merely a diversion for the main attack — ”

Tristan, a tall, youngish man with shoulder-length brown hair pulled into a pony tail behind him, takes a step closer to Indra.Clarke notices that he hugs one arm gingerly to his side, and she recognizes almost immediately that he’s dislocated his shoulder.

“They were everywhere, Commander,” he says, voice thick with pain as he speaks over Indra.“They came from nowhere, and surrounded us in a matter of minutes.The fight infected had us scattered throughout the woods, so we were too far apart from one another to mount a strategic defense.It was chaos.”

Indra picks the story back up.“Those of us who managed to avoid death or capture got separated, and we escaped the city in ones and twos and threes.”She nods at Tristan.“He’d gathered about ten by the time I found him with my group of five.We found a few more survivors, and we hid as close to the city as we dared and watched for another day, but…”Once again Indra shakes her head, regret etched into every line in her face. 

The Commander glances from Indra to Tristan, then surveys the somber group behind them.Clarke wonders if she’s counting — because Clarke just did.And unless she missed anyone, there are twenty-two survivors.

Twenty-two.

One hundred and seventeen left Polis ten days ago.

 _Twenty-two_ came home.

“You went back after a day?You searched for them?” the Commander asks her two Officers.Her voice is tight and high; she barely opens her mouth wide enough to get the words out.

“I did,” Tristan says, nodding, and Clarke thinks this is probably a good thing, because when she met with the Commander’s Officer Corps before the Spring Hunt, she seems to remember Tristan being introduced as a scout of some sort.“I took a group of two of the least injured, and we scoured the city for a full day and a half.But we found no trace of them.It was as if they’d simply… vanished.”

Clarke hears the wonderment and confusion in Tristan’s voice.Beyond the injured hunters, she sees a few of her own people wander out from the quarantine building, no doubt drawn by all the commotion.She watches as a still-limping Raven shoos little Charlotte back inside the building, obviously trying to protect the girl from the gruesome scene at the village gates.

That’s when something occurs to Clarke.

“What did they look like?” she asks, and all their eyes turn to her — Indra, Tristan, the Commander.They blink at her as if they had forgotten she was standing there and they don’t understand why she’s suddenly speaking.“The attackers — not the infected — what did they look like?How were they dressed?”

Indra and Tristan appear to think for a moment.It’s Tristan who speaks first.

“It was already nearing nightfall when the infected fell upon us, so it was hard to see, but — ”

“Black,” Indra states.And the single, cold word slams into Clarke’s chest as if it were a fist.“They were all dressed in black.And some of them — ”

“Had strange devices on their faces,” Clarke breaks in.“Like masks, but covering only their eyes.”She gestures with trembling hands, miming the way the strange eye-coverings protruded from the faces of the Mountain Men who slaughtered the Station, extending like mechanical antennae from their foreheads.The memory makes her nauseous.

Raven sees Clarke’s gesture, and her eyes immediately widen with terror.She hobbles in Clarke’s direction.

Tristan nods at Clarke’s description.“Yes.Something from the ancient times.But not broken.How did you know?”

Clarke opens her mouth to answer, to tell Tristan about the last thing she saw before Bellamy pushed her out the hidden side-gate and into the forest ringing the Station — the man with the broken teeth and sneering face, the one with the blood-slick machete raised above his head, the one with the strange contraption bound to his eyes.She is going to explain all of this to Tristan, but Raven speaks before she can.

“The Mountain Men,” she breathes.“They found us.”

 

#

 

Lexa snaps her head in the direction of the one called Raven.

“Explain,” she demands.

Nervous blue eyes meet her own.“The infected.The black clothes.The… _things_ on their faces.It’s the Mountain Men.”

“They captured some of your people, didn’t they?” Raven whispers.

Clarke reaches out, takes her friend’s hand, doesn’t let it go.Raven’s eyes begin to water, and Lexa doesn’t like seeing tears ( _“Tears are weakness,”_ Titus likes to remind Aiden and Ontari), so she looks back to her Officers.

“What of the rest of the Officer Corps?” she asks.“And the Fleimkeepa?”She also wants to ask about her two Seconds and her bodyguard, Gustus, but asking would reveal too much concern for them, and at this moment, she must appear to put her personal fears aside be most concerned about the village’s leadership.

This time, Tristan is the one who shakes his head.“The Fleimkeepa fell, Commander.I saw it with my own eyes.One of the — ” his eyes dart over to Clarke “ — Mountain Men.They crushed his skull with a club.”

Lexa feels light-headed, legs watery.Through sheer force of will, she keeps her face neutral as she asks, “And the Officers?”

“I saw Julius.He was taken down by an infected after an attack by one of the Mountain Men.He did not survive,” Indra says.“I do not know what happened to Roan, Harvard, or Lincoln, but Daris and Anya…”She pauses, probably because she knows what Anya means to Lexa.Or used to mean.“They were captured.I saw them being led away.”

Lexa’s heart flips, and bile rises up in the back of her throat, and she can’t help it — she has to look away from them.Titus always emphasizes the importance of controlling her body language and her emotions, and he complains without end about her hot-headed, emotional nature.

But in this moment, to think of Anya held by these ruthless killers, undergoing Ancient-Ones-only-know-what kind of torture at their hands… To think of her so far away, where Lexa can do nothing to help, nothing to protect her, nothing to ease her suffering or stop her tears…

“Clarke Griffin,” Lexa barks out, turning to Clarke with a snap of her head, “and you — Raven.You will come with Indra and Tristan and me to the Grand Hall.”

She turns to leave, but hears Clarke call, “Wait, Commander.We need to — I mean, please, may I fix Tristan’s shoulder before we go?I think… well, it seems like he’s dealt with enough pain.”

Lexa looks over her shoulder at Clarke, confused.Tristan and Indra are giving her a similar look. 

“He is lame now, Clarke,” Lexa says.“There is nothing that can be done for him.”

Clarke’s forehead crinkles into an equally confused ripple of wrinkles.“What do you mean?He’s just dislocated his shoulder.It’s not that hard to fix.And it should only take a second.Of course he’ll need to rest it for a few days, but…”She shrugs instead of finishing her sentence, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Lexa cocks her head, faces Clarke.“You can take his lameness away?”

“Of course I can.”Clarke turns to Tristan.“Lie down,” she orders.

But Tristan, as any good citizen of Polis knows, is beholden only to Lexa.So it is his Commander he looks at instead of Clarke, a question in his eyes.

Lexa nods curtly, preferring not to show Tristan her hesitation.

Her most trusted scout obeys, lying flat on his back.Clarke kneels beside the lame arm, taking it gently with both hands.Lexa watches as Clarke manipulates the arm out to the side, and then, without warning, pushes it sharply in and up.Tristan lets out a muffled grunt, but shows no other sign of pain.

Clarke pushes herself up from the ground, looking pleased.“There,” she says.“We need to make you a sling, but you should be alright with a couple weeks of rest.”

Indra raises her eyebrows slightly, glancing from Clarke to Tristan to Lexa.Lexa pushes away her surprise.

“Very good,” she says.“Now — to the Grand Hall.I need to hear everything you know about the Mountain Men.And then we will get our people back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo guys. Trying to keep up with my one-chapter-per-week commitment! But I wrote this in a hurry this afternoon and didn't even proofread (because I've got to run). Hopefully there aren't any errors that are too flagrant. 
> 
> Enjoy... things are starting to get interesting...


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